


Constellations

by TrulyCertain



Series: I like big plots and I cannot lie (Kink Meme prompts) [15]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Asexuality, F/M, Sex Pollen, but safe for work, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6469972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyCertain/pseuds/TrulyCertain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on the kink meme: Asexual!Warden is affected by something everyone figures is sex pollen. Turns out the problem can actually be solved by platonic intimacy, because curses are contrary and nonspecific that way. Her friends rally round her to help her get through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constellations

Elissa was quite certain it hadn’t been this cold a few hours ago. The shivers had come on suddenly, and she wrapped her arms around herself, not just to warm herself up but to push against the shaking, to steady her arms. She couldn’t let it continue. How in the Void was she meant to hold a shield, keep her hand steady on a sword hilt, if she was like this?

She tried her best not to remember the desire demon’s words, the way it had mocked her. _“You think you don’t want? Then I’ll_ make _you want.”_ A flash, a sound - she couldn’t remember the details, exactly. But she’d woken up to find the others standing over her, even Zevran’s easy cheer put aside as he examined a cut on her head with careful fingers.   
  
Alistair had, for once, not argued with the assassin, which was how she knew he was worried. He’d knelt next to her. She’d closed her eyes for a moment, still sick and a little dizzy, listening to the familiar creaking of leather and shifts of plate to steady herself. She’d become used to the sound; he always seemed to be next to her, watching her back. She tried not to examine why, exactly, she found his presence at her side so reassuring, when she was a trained warrior who could clearly look after herself. Why she felt better with him at her side.   
  
He’d reached out a hand, as if wanting to reassure, do something, but quickly pulled it back, only saying, “There was a demon… We thought we’d lost you there, for a moment.” Squinting at her exaggeratedly, he added, “Well, you don’t look possessed.”  
  
She’d wanted to laugh at the joke or to respond in kind. Instead, she wondered. She wondered whether a lapsed templar would be able to spot it. Whether something had crawled in and got to her.

  
Hours had passed, and she was still wondering. None of the others seemed to be having these troubles; they looked right as rain, albeit worried. Zevran kept darting glances her way, and she found it both irritating and unnerving. She wasn’t glass about to break, and she was already nervous; it wasn’t helping.   
  
She suddenly felt a pang as she looked at them. Suddenly the space around her seemed even colder and darker, and the distance to the main fire could have been an ocean. She’d moved away, not wanting them to see her weakness.  
  
But it was no wonder they were worried. With how she felt, the way she must look…  
  
She was still shaking, and there was a hollow feeling in her chest, almost close to pain. It made her feel sick. She clenched one trembling fist, willing it to steadiness. No success.  
  
She jumped as she heard a footstep next to her. Zevran was standing in front of her; she hadn’t even heard him approach. Maker, what was wrong with her? He crouched and then sat before her in one smooth movement. “Warden,” he began, and there was no flirtation, no humour in his tone. “I have seen this affliction before. A comrade of mine was affected. There was a demon then, too.” He cocked his head, seeming to assess her. “Are you experiencing any… urges? Are you feeling any different?”  
  
She stared at him. _Affliction?_ What _was_ this? Her heart seized with fear, and it took too long for her to find words. “I feel…” _Lonely,_ she thought, and knew it was true. This feeling, it was the same as she’d been after her family, after Howe… Desolate. She shook her head, unable to find the right way of phrasing it. “Empty.”  
  
He nodded briskly. “It will continue. It is a cruel kind of magic.”  
  
A soft stirring of dirt, and then Leliana was there too, soft-eyed and sad. “Cruel indeed.” She wrapped a hand around Elissa’s and for a moment - something changed. Elissa stared at her, feeling… warmer, the hollowness in her chest gone.  
  
Leliana continued, “It will kill you, eventually, and it will be slow, unless… There is only one solution I can think of.” She exchanged a look with Zevran, hesitating, the air thick between them. Then her gaze moved back to Elissa, and she said, “The only thing that will stop it is… physical means.”  
  
“Intimacy,” Zevran added. “That is what we were always told.”  
  
Elissa stared at them, feeling like she really would be sick. She knew what they meant. “But I don’t…” 

“There are ways,” Zevran said, his voice soft. “If you would like me to…”

“Or I could assist you, if it would make you more comfortable,” Leliana cut in, probably seeing Elissa’s expression of horror.  
  
Elissa stared at them. She’d thought it wouldn’t matter. Why should it? At the castle, she’d been used to finding servants in closets, guards in half-hidden trysts, and she’d only ever found it confusing. And probably sticky. She’d always shrugged and left them to get on with it. And there was a Blight, she was here as a Warden. _I will make you want._ But she didn’t _want_ this, it couldn’t be -  
  
She wanted to shake her head, push them away. Actually, she wanted to cry. But she wasn’t a pampered noble who could afford such luxuries, and so she set her jaw, pulling her hand away from Leliana’s. She stood, careful to keep her spine straight, looking at neither of them, and then she made for the nearest patch of forest. Anywhere away from them, from the pitying gazes and the offers of “help” and… all of it.  
  
She was careful not to run. Instead she walked, pretending she was calm, until she found a clearing some way from the main camp. Rather than screaming, or punching a tree - both immature, unbefitting of a Warden or even a ruined Cousland - she sat, curling into herself and closing her eyes. She just needed quiet, to think…  
  
She couldn’t run. She could feel the trembling, the hollowness, coming back even worse than before, and she had no choice. She hadn’t run from the darkspawn, she hadn’t run from the Wardens, and she wouldn’t run from this. If she died, who would stop the Blight? The others would be on their own, Alistair would be on his own - she couldn’t help remembering the way he’d begged her to stay the course in the Korcari Wilds, the way he’d said he couldn’t do this alone.  
  
It was only sex. People did it all the time. It was natural, or so people kept telling her. So why did she feel as if she was going to be sick?  
  
A tentative footstep a few feet away. Another, and another, coming closer. She somehow wasn’t surprised when Alistair said, “I thought I might find you here.”  
  
She glanced at him, and then away again, worried about what she’d see in his eyes. “You aren’t going to offer to ‘help’ me, are you?” She regretted the bitter words the moment they’d come out of her mouth, and she expected them to find their mark; she expected him to walk away or to rise to the bait and argue with her. Or even worse, actually offer that sort of help.  
  
Instead she heard him sit next to her, and when she looked over, he was sitting with his hands wrapped around his knees, watching her. “I… No. I wasn’t. Leliana told me what happened, and I… I just thought you might want to talk.”  
  
“I… I can’t.” She raised a hand to her mouth, unsure where the words had come from, why she was telling him this. It wasn’t the words themselves that were so difficult: she’d made it quite clear how unimpressed she was with Zevran’s double entendres and lascivious offers. It was that she was saying this to him, a man who was… important to her. Far too important, considering either of them could die tomorrow. But maybe that was why she was telling him at all, not just sending him away. “What they suggested - I don’t want it.” She raised her head, made herself look at him. “I never have. It’s - it’s never been an issue before. I was a little busy fighting the Blight.” She let out a harsh, humourless laugh.  
  
He looked a little surprised, but certainly not disgusted. His brow furrowed. “I remember you said you hadn’t… well. Not with anyone?” 

“It’s not that I don’t…” She ran a hand through her hair, darting glances at him but too afraid to truly, honestly look at him. “I’ve been in love before, I want to be with people, just not - not the, um, lampost licking. And it seems that makes me… abnormal?” The last word was a harsh inhale, and suddenly her eyes were stinging again. She looked at the trees around them, the sky - anywhere but him.  
  
When she looked at him, his eyebrows were somewhere near his hairline. “We’re travelling with a rogue golem, a hedge mage, a sister who thinks she gets visions from the Maker… And you think _you’re_ weird, just because you’re not so keen on the squelchy bits?” He sighed, giving her a bashful half-smile, the one that warmed her from the inside. “I think I have news for you, Liss.”  
  
She stared at him. It was so… so ordinary. He made an airy joke about it, just like he did about everything else. It was that that let her say: “Well no, I don’t think I am. Or I never thought I was. But I… If I’m going to have to…” She dropped her face into her hands, feeling the tears threatening to come again. Foolish, she thought. He’d have to follow her, look to her for guidance, and if he pitied her… It didn’t stop saltwater from sliding over her cheeks, and she did her best to stifle a sob. Another followed, and the force of it rocked her.  
  
She hadn’t realised that she’d been leaning until her head bumped against his shoulder. She looked up at him, knowing suddenly that she’d gravitated towards him, the way she always did when the weight of the mission and being a Warden was too much. But this - this was different.  
  
She felt him gently wrap an arm around her, and he said, “Feel free to punch me. But you looked like you needed a hug.”  
  
Protests about leadership and a strong front floated through her mind, but she suddenly couldn’t be bothered to listen to them. She shifted closer, pressing her face into his shoulder, her nose against his chest. She expected him to pull away, but he didn’t; instead he let her stay where she was, his hand a steady comfort on her back.  
  
“We’ll find another way,” he told her, and she felt the words as much as heard them. They were low, gentle and slightly rough, not a quip or a bit of sarcasm in evidence. As if he was upset about this, too. “I promise.” She felt him rest his chin on top of her head, and he didn’t say anything else, seeming content to wait.  
  
He was warm, solid. Comfortable. She listened to his breathing, matching hers to it. It was strange, but she suddenly thought that this was exactly what she’d wanted. Someone to understand. Not to be alone, even as she ran from the others.  
  
She remembered standing in the Denerim square after that mess with Goldanna, watching him closing in on himself. She’d wanted to reach out to him, to tell him that he wasn’t alone, that he was worthy. She’d wanted so desperately to show him what she saw, to take away the sadness in his eyes. To show him what a wonderful surprise he was in such a dark world.  
  
She moved to look up at him, and he noticed. He looked back at her, surprise and something else, something softer, in his face, and she suddenly wondered whether he felt the same, wanted to carry her burdens. Whether her foolish infatuation was quite so one-sided after all. The way he watched her, the brightness of it, was too much; she returned her eyes to her knees, all at once realising that she’d never been so close to him before.   
  
_Close._  
  
She raised her hand to stare at it. The tremors had stopped, and she felt less faint. The pain in her chest, her limbs… It had stopped, all of it.  
  
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Zevran said…” 

She practically bolted from his arms, almost tripping over him, and ran to the camp, all pretence at calm gone. If there was another way…  
  
“Zevran,” she said.  
  
He glanced up at her from where he was sitting, then continued sharpening his daggers. “Warden.”  
  
“Did they say sex?” When he just raised an eyebrow, she said, “When they spoke of this curse - did they say _sex_ would cure it, specifically?”  
  
For once, the assassin looked caught off-guard. “I… They simply spoke of intimacy. I assumed…”  
  
“You assumed.”  
  
He looked up at her, eyes glinting in the firelight. “You think there is another way.”  
  
And then Leliana was beside her, swift and silent as a shadow. “If there is…” the bard began. She laid a hand on Elissa’s arm, the stepped forward and hugged her. “I am glad,” she said quietly.  
  
Elissa closed her eyes, inhaling, taking a moment to feel the way her heart calmed, and her legs would hold her up again. “I’m just so… lonely,” she admitted, her voice small in the quiet. “But it… it stops hurting when I’m with you. With all of you.”  
  
“And there lies the heart of it,” Zevran chipped in. “Perhaps it is truly companionship that is the issue.” He rose to his feet, touching Elissa to gently disentangle her from Leliana. He said quietly, “It plays on one’s desires. And you have never desired that sort of companionship, have you?” When Elissa shook his head, he sighed. “I should have known. I have failed at assassinating you _and_ seducing you. It is truly impressive.”  
  
She smiled at him. “I’m sure you’re very appealing.”  
  
Giving her a roguish grin, he replied, “I, too, am sure. But I’ve always excelled in choosing the wrong target.”  
  
When Alistair eventually found his way through the bushes and trees around camp, probably wondering what, by the Maker, had happened, he was greeted by the sight of Elissa sitting leaning against Leliana. Leliana’s hands were twined in Elissa’s hair, combing gently, twining strands and bringing little, complex braids into existence. The dexterity of a rogue had other uses, it seemed.  
  
Elissa smiled in greeting and said, “Join us, if you like. Zevran was just telling us about the time a Crow was accidentally rolled down a hill in a fruit cart.”  
  
Zevran had been, in fact. He sat next to her, a foot touching hers, running a whetstone over her sword; he’d told her that it was no trouble, as you could cut a grain of salt in half with his daggers at this point anyway and it would be little extra work.  
  
Alistair hesitated a moment at the edge of the scene, half in shadow, his face uncertain. She wondered if, for all his bluster and joking, he was lonely, too. Then he seemed to recover his cheer, sitting opposite her. “Are we going to start painting each other’s nails and giggling, too? Because honestly, I’m game.”  
  
Leliana said above Elissa’s head, “I think pink would suit you. It would highlight those charmingly strong hands, and provide a good contrast to those scruffy gauntlets.” She said it almost seriously, but there was a smile at the edge of her voice.  
  
He raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips and pretending to consider it. “Don’t you think red would be better? It would go with all the blood, at least.”  
  
Elissa lost the thread of the conversation, though she caught Zevran’s slightly smug, “And Julio smelled of peaches for a week”; she was happy to just close her eyes and bask in the warmth of the fire, of having the people she loved around her. 

She opened her eyes when she heard the sound of dirt stirring, and to her surprise, she saw Morrigan sitting on her other side. The witch kept a good half-foot of space between them, of course, but then she reached out to Elissa. “A rejuvenation spell can counteract the effects of such curses, to a degree.”   
  
Elissa made no move to stop her, and Morrigan reached out a hand , running it gently down Elissa’s arm. The touch was warm with magic, soothing, and unexpectedly gentle. Leliana gave her room and Morrigan massaged the spell into Elissa’s shoulder, her shoulderblade. Elissa leaned into the touch.  
  
“There,” Morrigan said. “It will spread from here.” Her voice was far from unkind, and Elissa was surprised to see something almost akin to sympathy in her eyes. Then she was gone, leather and feathers trailing behind her. Elissa said nothing more, just trying to be certain it had happened at all.  
  
The hours passed, and Elissa was told the colour had returned to her cheeks. Her face hurt from smiling, and she finally, finally felt almost herself again. She paused sometimes to assess how she felt, and there was little trace of whatever magic had been laid upon her. The colour bled from the sky, and the others began to drift off to their tents, until she half-thought that she was the only one left - then she looked to her side and caught Alistair’s eye.   
  
He’d been unusually quiet. The smallest smile was on his face, his eyes on her. He hastily looked at his knees, at the trees around them, like he’d been caught.  
  
“What?” she said, amused rather than irritated.  
  
He met her eye, looking like he was trying to be casual. “You should smile more. It suits you.” There it was, the gentleness he tried to hide when he pretended to be blithe; she realised in that moment that he was looking at her as if she was the only thing that mattered. As if she was… precious.  
  
“Alistair…” she began, heat rushing to her cheeks.  
  
“I’m sorry.” He ducked his head. “I suppose that’s not the sort of thing ‘just friends’ say, is it?” When he made himself look at her, there was fear in his eyes, but also a burning, bright hope that took her breath away. “I just… They said this spell was killing you, and the thought of losing you… When Zevran explained what you’d said, that there was another way, the relief…”  
  
Elissa searched for the right way to say it. “Alistair, you remember what I said in the woods?” When he nodded, she continued, “You’ve been in a monastery, you’re young, you’ll want to…”  
  
That raised eyebrow again, as if she’d said something stupid. “We’re the same age, Elissa. ‘Young’ doesn’t mean ‘an inconsiderate brute.’ I’ve already done without it for twenty years, after all.”  
  
“Alistair, you know what I’m saying.”  
  
“Yes, I do. And I want to be with you. However I can, however you want me to… It’s enough. It’s always enough.”  
  
Her voice was breathless with surprise. She almost didn’t recognise it as her own. “Oh.” 

He offered her that small smile again, then looked upwards. “You know, those five stars…” He pointed to the sky, and she shifted to get the right angle, to see. It brought her closer to him, but somehow she didn’t mind. “The Dalish always called them Ghilan’nain’s shroud, but we weren’t meant to know that. It was Andraste’s crown, or so we were told. And that one…”  
  
“That was Aveline,” she said, pointing to it. “My teacher would show me.”  
  
He glanced to her, then back to the sky. “We were told that one too. The knight who changed a nation with her courage. They say she was beautiful under that helmet. But she was also strong, brave, moral… That was what entranced the court.” His voice was so soft on the last sentence that she almost didn’t hear it. “I think I know how they feel.”  
  
She turned her head and found him watching her intently. She inhaled, the sound sharp, and then returned her gaze to the stars. “And that one” - she pointed to it - “I’m sure you know as well. Another knight, just as noble… He fought for his country, and there were sonnets.”  
  
“And epics, if I recall.”  
  
She carefully kept her eyes on the stars. “Alistair, I’m making a point. And the stories, they always tell of his bravery…” She looked at him then, raising a hand to touch his cheek. “And his kindness.”  
  
He blinked in surprise, but relaxed into the touch before giving her that look, amazed and joyous, as if she’d just given him the sun. “They do?” he managed.  
  
“I think they’re missing a verse or two about his proficiency with a shield, but yes,” she said, closing the space between them and taking his hand -  
  
And something changed. A shift in her chest, as if the ground beneath her had moved, or a new relief like the breaking of a chain. “Alistair,” she breathed, “it’s gone.”  
  
His eyes widened. “The… the spell?” At her nod, he said, “You were right.” He beamed at her. “Not that you’re ever anything else, of course.”  
  
She was the same, trying to contain the happiness in her, and she stepped forwards, brushing his lips with her own. It was gentle, soft, and she could feel his smile as he returned the kiss. She drew back to sit beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “You do know Aveline dies in the end?”  
  
He sighed. “I was hoping you’d forget that. I was doing so well, too.”  
  
She laughed, a slight exhale that was absorbed by the trees and the sky. “You’re doing fine.”  
  
She wasn’t sure how many hours passed, there in the woods. They spent it telling each other stories, her hand wrapped in his, his arm around her. She stayed with him, hearing the stories of Sacrifice and all the others. He’d look at her as he talked, his eyes shining, that smile on his face, as if he still couldn’t believe he was there with her. Some time during all of it, tiredness crept up on her. She fell asleep curled round him, her head on his chest, no curse in her heart. Instead there was simply a sheer, bright joy.


End file.
